The Wolf's Eyes
by RagingBelgian
Summary: Semi AU: Arya discovers Nymeria is alive, but in danger and hopes to reunite with her. Set during a Storm of Swords, with character and storyline changes to the original. Diverges from storyline and character correctness at times, but I do try to stay in touch with some of the theories. First attempt at fan fiction writing, so I can use all the feedback you can give me. Thank you!
1. Chapter 1 - The Wolf's Eyes

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THE WOLF'S EYES

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_The wolf howled and stared into the woods. It was dark, but her sight was so clear, she could see the leaves rustling with every breeze. It made her vigilant. Then she caught it. The sense of blood pumping through her prey's body. It was a man, running. She could smell his fear from two hundred yards away. This wasn't just hurried running, this man was horrified. Nymeria eyed ahead and nodded over to her pack. They started moving forward, cloaked by their furs in the darkness. Suddenly her instinct felt something coming and put her on high alert. Seconds later, her vision blurred out and she felt overwhelmed by an undetectable spirit. She let it take her over. She let it in. Nymeria knew this feeling; she had felt it before when she was young, before she had left her friend. Arya._

Arya dreamt she had entered the mind of her lost direwolf. In her dream, she had seen everything from her wolf's perspective. She wasn't a little girl in her dream. She was a direwolf, huge and powerful. Nymeria had gone hunting, but really it had been Arya who was running in her pelt. She had felt the cushions underneath her feet as she moved between the grey weirwood, and when she had emerged from beneath the trees, it had been her who had bared her teeth in a low rumbling growl. Arya had seen the wolves tear the flesh from the fresh kill she had made. She didn't have any control over her actions, all she felt was the urge to feed. The man they had attacked was fully clothed in black furs. From what she had seen, Arya concluded that he had been a man of the Night's Watch. A crow. The raw, bloody flavor of meat in her mouth had left Arya delirious, but now that she had woken up she could still taste it and she felt disgusted. 'It all looked so real, so vivid and alive,' she thought.

It had been three years since she had set the direwolf loose to escape Cersei's guards. They would have put her down if they had found her, but even after all this time she regretted her mistake. It had only led to bad luck and loneliness. Nymeria had been her only friend when she grew up. They had a connection like no one else; it was as if they actually understood each other, as if they were the same person at times.

She looked around her and remembered where she was. The Inn of the Kneeling Man was quiet and deserted. There were several cracks in the walls from the scavengers that had been occupying the place before her. The bastards had killed the innkeeper and his boy. She found them dead with the crossbow bolt still stuck in their chest. It had taken her two days to get them buried. At first Arya had felt the urge to track them down and slice their throats in the nights, but they had abandoned in a hurry and the trail was cold. They were gone.

It was time for her to move as well. Riverrun was three hours away. Apart from Winterfell, it was the only place where she could be safe. Maybe her family was there. Or at least, whatever was left of it. She had witnessed what they had done to her brother Robb and her mother at the Crossing. Arya held back her tears and pressed her lips together. Now was not the time for this. She started scouring the Inn for provisions and was ready to go on her way south, when she heard horses and men approaching. Quickly she leaped behind a door into a darkened nook, and spied through one of the cracks. Her heart started thumping in her chest. As silent as possible she reached for Needle, the handmade sword on her waist that she had gotten from her brother Jon. _Stick 'em with the pointy end_, she remembered.

Through the crack she saw three men come in. The first one was tall, had short slick black hair and huge hands. He was very muscular and carried a giant war hammer on his back. The second one looked younger, but he wore steel plate armor with a purple cloak. His face was handsome with strong cheekbones and dark eyes. The last one was an elder knight with an eye patch. Arya was certain she had seen him before, but whenever she seemed to remember where from, the thought fled from her mind because someone in the room moved.

"We'll rest here. Feed the horses, check the rooms for supplies" said the one-eyed knight. "And someone get Thoros for me, please."

The buffed man walked back out and another man walked in. His hair was fiery red and he wore a long brown stained robe, with a sword buckled around his waist. This time Arya remembered. This man was Thoros of Myr, the famous Red Priest her father used to tell tales about. He used to compete in tourneys, where he would raise flaming sword in the air before lunging forward to commence his one-on-one swordfight for glory.

"You asked for me, my lord?"

"There's no use in calling me a lord now, Thoros. I have no lands to return to and my holdings are in ruins."

"I like the formality of it. It makes me feel like we're not just a band of pillagers."

"What would you have me do then? We don't get paid for chivalry and heroism. You knew what we were getting into, and now we're outlaws on both sides of the war."

"I know," Thoros answered. He sighed.

"The Young Wolf's army is scattered, Riverrun has surrendered to a nephew of the Freys and these Lannister patrols keep moving up the Kingsroad. We are losing men every day. But let's just focus on getting back to the others for now. How far until we reach the cave?" the knight asked.

"Three miles maybe? Most of our trail marks to the cave have been washed away by last night's rain."

"We must make it by the end of the night. I won't risk another night on the road."

While Arya was focusing on the two men talking, she hadn't noticed the purple-cloaked boy approaching, and now that she had, she panicked and stumbled backwards with a loud thud. She anxiously restored her balance and grabbed Needle's handle, but it was to late. The boy unsheathed his sword and with its tip he opened the door and stared right into Arya's eyes. His surprised face quickly turned into regret, as if he was already apologizing for what was coming. Then his sword's hilt struck her temple, and she passed out.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Princess of Winterfell

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THE PRINCESS OF WINTERFELL

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Blindfolded and bounded by her hands they carried her into the cave, where they put her in a manmade holding cell. She could hear people talking, but there was nothing to see except for the poorly lit walls of rock and the wet stone she sat on. Her head hurt so bad, she closed her eyes and cleared her thoughts. She wasn't scared. She had learned that from Syrio Forel, the First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos. Her dance instructor. _Fear cuts deeper than swords, _she thought to herself.

"What's your name, boy?" a yawning voice inquired.

Arya opened her eyes and saw the shadow of a giant chalked on the wall. "I'm not a boy. I am Arya… a girl," she answered reluctantly. She didn't want to drop her house's name, in case these men were Lions, so she kept it behind her tongue.

"So you are," the sturdy man grunted, "my pardons."

"Arya…?" a second voice stepped out of the shadows and went down on one knee. The man who kneeled before her was the one-eyed knight, and in that moment Arya remembered where she had seen him before; in the throne room of the Red Keep back in King's Landing, where he had bowed before her father. He still had both his eyes back then. He was Lord Beric Dondarrion, one of her father's men. From what she had heard, Lord Beric had been killed by Vargo Hoat, and by Ser Amory Lorch before that, and twice by Gregor Clegane, the Hound's crueler and huge brother, who most people referred to as the Mountain.

"Who?" Thoros asked.

"This is Arya Stark, daughter to Lord Eddard Stark. She's a Princess of Winterfell now."

They let her out of that cage immediately after that, and Lord Beric introduced her to the rest of the group, who eyed her with great eagerness and suspicion. There was Lymond Lychester, Anguy the archer, you had Greenbeard, Hot Pie and The Bull, whose actual name was Gendry. Lord Lychester had been a soldier in her father's service as well, and was send with Lord Beric to arrest Gregor Clegane, who had been on a killing spree throughout the Riverlands. Anguy was a champion archer from the Dornish Marches, who could shoot a man twice before he dropped dead on the ground. His archery skills were legendary, and it was him who provided most of the food by hunting the woods surrounding the camp. Greenbeard was named so for obvious reasons. Several strings of green hairs were braided in his phenomenal beard. His thundering laugh filled the cave and tuned everyone else out, but he was a kind man, and very gentle to the weaker folks. He reminded Arya of her uncle Benjen, who was a ranger at the Wall, that 400-foot fortification of ice that parted Westeros from everything that lay beyond. He always took her side in every argument, and then they winked at each other in mutual understanding. Hot Pie was a fat boy, two years older than her, but just as small. He was the cook of the fellowship, and couldn't be bothered with all the commotion around the camp. He was very shy and didn't say a word, even when Arya introduced herself. Finally, there was Gendry. He was the colossal giant she had seen in the Inn, and he also turned out to be the smith. He had travelled North from King's Landing as well, running from the queen's guards for a reason even he didn't know. But people talked and said he was a bastard of the old Hand of the King, the one that got his head chopped off. But that couldn't be true. Arya's father had only one bastard and that was Jon Snow, her brother at the Wall. Of all her brothers, Arya missed Jon the most. He had given her Needle after all. She had loved the way he would stroke his hand through her hair and sometimes they would say something in unison and then laugh about it.

"We're the Brotherhood without Banners," Lord Beric said, as they walked out of the cave for the first time. There was a palisade wall surrounding the camp and they had put up sentry towers at every entrance. Likely there were scout patrols further into the woods to warn them of anyone who came near. "After King Robert Baratheon's death and your father's we wandered around looking for companies we could join, but when we saw the dreadful mess the war created along the Kingsroad, we pledged to fight injustice and founded our own company. We figured that it's the people of Westeros who need the most support in this war, for they've lost everything. Houses in ruins, crops burned, sons slain, daughters raped, babies left for dead. The horrors we've seen."

Both stayed silent for a while. Arya had seen the corpses on the side of the road as well, but she had chosen to be oblivious. War has a high cost and everyone pays the price. She had, too, she thought as the faces of her lost family passed in front of her eyes.

"Please forgive me, Arya, I must speak to my counselors. Make yourself as comfortable as you can, but please, don't go off on your own in the woods."

"I won't," she mumbled, and she turned to watch him return to the cave. Just outside the entrance sat the boy who found her in the Inn of the Kneeling Man. Arya walked up to him and watched him looking around uncomfortably and embarrassed like he was trying to avoid conversation with her. He then regained his posture and looked her right in the eyes again, the same way he did back at the Inn. She now noticed the color of his eyes. A shady purple, like shimmering amethysts, haunting and tantalizing.

"How is that head of yours feeling, Your Royal Highness?" he asked cautiously as he rubbed his hand behind his head.

"Bruised, thank you," Arya wasn't planning on forgiving him this soon. She touched her temple and rubbed it concisely "And please call me Arya… 'Your Royal Highness' makes me feel old and important. And I don't exactly look like I'm royalty either."

It was true. She had been wearing these rags since her escape from Harrenhal, where she had been Nan the cupbearer for Tywin Lannister. They depicted the flayed man on a cross, sigil of House Bolton.

"But you are important, though. And if you want, I can help you with new clothing. See that lady over there?" he pointed to a fair looking lady doing some needlework under a tree. "That is Lady Ravella Swann of Acorn Hall, wife of Lord Smallwood. Go see her if you want to change into something more suitable."

"I will, thank you…" she paused for a while. "You haven't told me your name."

"I haven't?" he seemed genuinely surprised. "Pardon my manners, the name's Edric Dayne. I'm Lord Beric's squire and Lord of Starfall, but they call me Ned."

Her father's nickname sent a shiver up her spine. "Starfall… You're a far way from home then, like me," she said.

"I can't even remember the last time I was there. I have been living with Lord Beric and squiring for him since I was four and ever since the war started, we've been battling alongside each other. He's the only father I have left now… You know, I met your father once. In King's Landing."

"Please," Arya requested, "I don't want to talk about him."

"My apologies, I didn't want to… "

"I know. It's just that I prefer not bringing it up. Now, how about you introduce me to Lady Smallwood."

Edric forced a peaceful smile and placed one hand gently on her back as he led her to the knitting woman. Ravella Swann had a beautiful smooth skin and long black hair. She reminded Arya of her mother by the shape of her face and the graceful way she moved her body. Before Arya could say anything Lady Smallwood examined her from head to toe, took her hands, and soothingly said: "Don't worry, sweetheart, I'll find you something nice to wear. My daughter Carellen is about your age. My husband and I sent her to my aunt in Oldtown when the war began, for her own protection. I'm sure we can still find you a nice dress. Now, how about we get you a bath as well?"

That didn't sound like a bad idea. She had been running around in this outfit for days, and she couldn't even remember the last time that she had a bath and properly cleaned herself. So she left Edric and trailed behind Lady Smallwood to the only building where there were actual living chambers. It was an old stone tower with a small adjoining house next to it. The Brotherhood had clearly done some restorations to the roof and the interior, and now they looked like real living quarters. A Septa was reading a book in the corner, where they had provided a rack of books. On the walls were the shields of a dozen Houses, some of which she recognized. Arya looked around in awe. They even had a fireplace! After the ransacked halls of Harrenhal, this was the first holding she could actually call a castle. Only it wasn't. It did not have the fortified stone brick walls or barracks. It didn't have crypts or a throne room. It had none of the things Winterfell had, but it was more than she had imagined.

Lady Smallwood helped her out of her flayed man rags and heated up some water at the fireplace. The Septa helped them rub her clean, which was easier said than done. They had to scrub so hard, she almost felt like she was being flayed herself. After that, Lady Smallwood went through one of the chests in the room next door and came back with a light green gown with acorns embroidered all over the bodice in brown thread. Arya wore it with brown woolen stockings and a light linen shift dress underneath. Lady Smallwood fussed at the gown and laced up Arya's back.

"There," she said, "Now you look like a proper young lady."

_I'm not a lady_, Arya wanted to tell her, _I'm a wolf._

"I do not know who you are, child," the woman said, "and it may be that's for the best. Someone important, I fear." She smoothed down Arya's collar. "In times like these, it is better to be insignificant. Would that I could keep you here with me. That would not be safe, though. I have walls, but too few men to hold them." She sighed.

Supper was served by the time she was fully cleaned and clothed. She saw the men eyeballing her as she walked into the messhall and felt embarrassed. She wasn't used to this. Usually it was Sansa with her colorful dresses and her long auburn hair that made the men's heads turn. When she caught Edric Dayne in an open-mouthed stare, he spilled some of his wine in a desperate attempt to recover himself, and Arya could barely hold her laughter. Suddenly, a high-pitched giggle cracked through her lips and completely blew Edric's cover, because he turned fiercely red underneath his Dornish skin. Greenbeard started thundering and soon the whole hall knew what happened. Arya, feeling a little guilty about all of it, squirmed herself in her chair and tried not to look at him again, but she caught herself wanting to make sure he wasn't angry with her.

After supper she avoided people and went to bed early, exhausted by the events that had played today. She closed her eyes and fell into a boundless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3 - A Vision of Death

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A VISION OF DEATH

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She was back in Nymeria's body, running swiftly through the forest with the wind shaking the sand off her grey-matted fur. This time was different. She was conscious of what she was doing, even though she still couldn't lead her direwolf where she wanted. It just felt like the connection was stronger, smoother, but more passive. While Nymeria was running wild, Arya focused on anything around her. Nothing but trees it seemed. Nymeria slowed her pace and entered a small grotto, where several wolves lay on the ground, sleeping. One of them looked up, but lowered his head and kept it rested on his paws when he recognized her. Arya turned her attention towards her surroundings again. The grotto had clearly been carved by men, but abandoned. Then she saw the brass idol of the Stranger on a stone altar further in the dark, surrounded by many stumps of used candles and pale white leaves. The Stranger was one of the Seven. There was the Father, the Mother, the Smith, the Crone, the Warrior, the Maiden and the Stranger, who all represented an aspect of life. The Stranger was often referred to as the god of Death, many feared him and there were only few places where he was worshipped. Without the direwolf's eyes she would not have been able to see it, but Nymeria had adopted the dark as if she had been born in it.

Suddenly she reared her head and turned her ears. Something was coming again. Something merciless. She growled loudly and affronted to wake up her pack and with a nod she ordered two of them to go and check out the danger. Moments later they heard the whizzes of crossbow bolts and two heartbreaking squeals of mortality, followed by deep chuckles of men. Arya's heart started racing. Or was it Nymeria's? She couldn't tell, but she wanted to scream. There was no way they could make a run for it. They were completely surrounded, and then the men entered the grotto. Five at a time, carrying big fishnets. The wolves tried to fight them, they tried to protect the pack, but it only ended up in them getting caught in the nets and struggling to stay on their feet. Resistance was futile. Nymeria gestured at the remaining wolves and looked for any kind of opening, but it was too late. "We got a big one 'ere… I ain't even sure if this one's a wolf," said a hostile voice. She saw the framed ropes around her and as they pulled she, too, fell. "Keep her alive, and Mercer will pay good money for her," someone said. "Too much work, the pelt is worth enough," another one answered, and right before she saw the reflection of the moonlight on the silver blade, Arya woke up.

"NO!" she screamed as she woke up and sat up straight. A tear was rolling off her cheek. She took a deep breath and pressed her hand on her chest. She was feeling lightheaded from all the anxiety and her heart was racing so fast she could feel it pulsing in the veins in her neck. Then she couldn't hold it anymore and burst out in desperate hyperventilation. Edric walked up to her and kneeled down closely, put his warm hand over her shoulder and for a moment, he appeared as the imperishable image she had of her father. He was there, watching over her, someone nice to hold when she was tired.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked with the same careful softness as before. Arya ignored the stupidity of that question and remained silent. Even with all the madness of the moment, she understood Edric was trying to comfort her. "Do you want tell me what happened?" he tried again.

"You're going to think I'm being ridiculous."

"I might, I might not. But you won't know it until you talk about it. I want to help, Arya, please let me help you."

Arya hesitated before she started telling him about Nymeria. How she had thrown rocks at her to chase her away before the Queen's guards came. How two days ago she had her first dream about Nymeria, and then about how tonight she had watched her being captured and killed. By the time she finished, she was sobbing all over again. Edric looked at her with great curiosity and compassion.

"These dreams, did they feel like you were actually living them, not just watching them? Like… You could feel what they feel and make them do your will?"

Arya looked up and answered with a wary look. "You have them, too?" she asked apprehensively.

"They started about three months ago. I can't control who it is I'm warging into, but usually it's a bird, like a hawk or something. Sometimes it's a cat. Always the same place, but I don't recognize where it is. However, I believe it must be of some importance that I find it. Maybe you need to do the same… Find out who killed her, track them down. She might even still be alive. You wouldn't have had this dream for no reason, right?"

"Where am I going to start? I have no idea where she is. And if she's been captured, she's probably dead already." The words got stuck in her throat as she said them, but the realization of that truth felt even worse.

"I'll help you."

Beric was reluctant to let us go. He needed every soldier they had to launch an attack on Stony Sept, south from Acorn Hall. If it hadn't been for the scout who confirmed that the Mountain had left for Pinkmaiden, they never would have been able to leave. After he had agreed to help her, Edric had started working on a plan to track down Nymeria. First, they would travel south to Pinkmaiden with Beric and the Brotherhood, at which point Arya and Edric would travel on by themselves. They figured that the altar of the Strangler that Arya had seen in her dream must be located below the Neck, because no one above the Neck worshipped the Seven, except for House Manderly. A great help came from the Septa who had helped her wash. She brought down an old dusty book she had read in the library that claimed that Pinkmaiden was one of the places where the Stranger had been a major power. Great battles had been fought at Pinkmaiden in the past, and death had demanded his toll there, and now Lord Beric was preparing another assault on Pinkmaiden to capture Gregor Clegane and bring him to justice.

They left early the following morning. They could not spare a horse, so Arya rode with Lord Lychester, her father's bannerman.

"When we first came out west, we were forty. Twenty men from King's Landing and twenty men from Winterfell your father sent, Lord Beric, Thoros and myself included. We arrived at the Fort of High Heart in the early afternoon and were closed in from two sides. The Mountain and his men had been waiting for us all along. They hunted down the ones who tried to run and burned them. By nightfall only six of us remained and Lord Beric had fallen. A lance had pierced him and his eye was carved out by Ser Gregor. He left him for dead. Thoros risked everything to drag his body from the field. That night he pulled a foot of lance from his chest, and started praying by his fire. We were certain we weren't going to live, but when dawn came, Lord Beric was alive and stronger than before. He told us not to break courage, and that every man of ours who'd fallen would be avenged tenfold.

"By then the fighting has passed. Ser Clegane and his men had left for the Red Fork, sweeping up the Riverlands and burning everything in their path. We told each other that we would join up with your brother Robb at the Twins, but when we heard about his death we decided to return south. We heard Riverrun was sieged by the Lannisters as well, and knew we wouldn't be able to reach your uncle either. We started wandering these woods after that, and many have joined us since; Knights, squires, bastards and shoemakers, some hedge knights as well, all who wished to fight. Every day new people joined. Before long, the Brotherhood came to existence."

"_Lord Beric was brought back to life?_" Arya asked in disbelief.

"I would not have believed it myself either if I had not seen it with my own eyes. But I swear it on the Old Gods and the New; he stood before us, resurrected. We call him the Lightning Lord now, the Prince that was promised. The son of R'hllor, Azor Ahai reborn"

Arya watched Lord Beric curiously. He led the company and made sure no one stayed behind or slowed down. They had to make it by Pinkmaiden as soon as possible, or else the Mountain might escape them again. They rode swift and light, so that the horses wouldn't get too tired. At certain times, Edric and Anguy circled back to the end of their line to encourage others to up the pace. It was weird seeing Edric like this. He had a sternness on his face that resembled her father.

They scouted the area before going in this time, and reports came back that the Mountain was indeed there, with no sign of any traps or ambushes. Lord Beric first send his horsemen to flank them and ordered the archers to lay down a cover fire right before the main host went in. Only now it surprised Arya how many Brothers there really were. At the camp it had seemed less, because they had been scattered all over the place, but now that they were united they must've been a small host of at least two or three hundred soldiers. They had found it best that Arya stayed behind and out of sight as much as possible. For once she hadn't mind staying out of the conflict. Usually she would have protested, but she had seen what the Mountain was capable of, when he had cut off Ser Hugh of the Vale's arm at the elbow and killed his horse right with it in one huge swing. She remembered the blood mixing with the dirt as Ser Hugh had dropped to his knees and died.

Suddenly a sentry horn warned their foes of their coming. Lord Beric Dondarrion and the others charged on Ser Gregor's main force, but by then they were well prepared. Still, the Mountain was losing men in rapid tempo. His numbers were greater, though. With a five hundred men battalion, they still outweighed the Brotherhood on the odds. Lord Beric rode his men into the mass and started hacking down. Not long after that, they put a spear through his horse and he fell, but stood right up and pulled out his sword. One by one he plunged his sword into the bodies of men, blood gushing out from every gaping wound he left. Lord Lychester and Ned joined him and charged their enemies head on. Arya watched from afar how Edric swinged his greatsword harder and harder, trying to smash the smaller man with brute force, to break his blade or shield or arm, but she decided to turn her gaze away from the battle and wait.

By then, Lord Beric had reached Ser Gregor and that is when his sword lit up with a dark red fire. It took flame from point to crossguard, but Lord Dondarrion did not seem to feel the heat.

"_Bloody bastard!_" Ser Gregor shouted at him. "I've killed you twice, and you still beg for more?"

Lord Beric stood still as if he was turned into stone, but when the Mountain charged at him, he moved fast enough. His flaming sword leapt up to meet the cold steel of his enemy and flares sparked off as the metal clanked. Ser Gregor swung at him again, but Lord Beric' shield blocked him easily enough. Now it was Lord Beric attacking, filling the air with ropes of fire, and driving the bigger man back on his heels. Clegane caught one blow over his head and another on his shield. The cuts came hard and fast, and from all sides. It seemed as if Lord Beric was everywhere as with every fiery gash streams of fire left his mark. Ser Gregor's dark hair was thick with sweat, and his eyes showed a brief glimpse of fright.

Then Ser Gregor bashed Lord Beric with his shield in a reckless counterattack that made him tumble backwards and stagger over a fallen brother. The Mountain raised his sword up high and came down with a suffocating blow that cut the burning sword clean through and slashed into Lord Beric' shoulder. The blood came rushing out in a black gush. Once more, Ser Gregor slid close to his foe to finish the job, but this time it was Thoros who caught the downcut on his sword.

"Burn in seven hells," the Mountain cursed. "How lovely of you to join us, Thoros. When I'm finished with him, you're up."

"Every word you say proclaims your guilt, murderer," answered Thoros, while he brought his own fiery blade to his face. Ser Gregor looked around and realized his men had decimated. He estimated a hundred were left, and brought his focus back to Thoros. He jerked forward and swung high and with immense power, so that even Thoros has to leap backwards to avoid the steel. In a mighty roar he sounded the retreat and fled through the gates behind him. A simple cut sliced the ropes that held up the portcullis, trapping Lord Beric and his men in the courtyard of Pinkmaiden Castle.

Thoros did not pursue him, but immediately sat down by Lord Beric. He ordered a maester to join them at once and attend to his wounds, while he ignited a fire and started his prayer to the Lord of Light. Meanwhile they heard the Mountain's men fleeing through the mountain's pass in the numerous whinnies of horses.

When they saw the men coming back, Arya looked for Ned. He was carrying Lord Beric by the shoulder, with his cloak spotted of blood. He had small cut on the left side on his face that had spilled blood down his neck. Then she noticed Lord Beric' cut. The sword has slashed him deep in the shoulder, but the wound had already healed. It looked like a fresh scar; only, the blood had not been cleaned up. Amongst the survivors were many of the faces she knew, but Lord Lychester's was missing.

"He fought valiantly, but died defending me against four men when I had to interfere to stop the Mountain," Thoros said later at his funeral, "he perished to protect his brothers. He was a great man, with a noble heart and mind. May the Red God take care of him in death as he took care of us in life."

They had fought with all their strength, and still the Mountain had slipped away and halved their forces. The aftermath of the battle was horrific. Arya was sent up to the battlefield with the other women to get settled in the castle quarters and to start setting up the camp. The men moved the bodies outside the gates, and Lord Beric commanded that the Mountain's men would be buried in a mass grave and without the usual rites. Most of their brothers were cremated as last tribute to the Red God. Those that had worshipped the Old Gods were buried within the weirwood nearby. Those that had prayed to the Seven were laid to rest in the Sept's Hall of the Dead. And as they ate supper that night, no thundering laugh filled the room.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Skinwalker

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THE SKINWALKER

–

Three days after the events of that week, Arya and Edric left Pinkmaiden to go west. They had scoured the area around Pinkmaiden and had found the altar. When they got there, Arya's flashback recognized it from her dreams and the smell of the wolves was still there. That's when they found a golden broach that must've fallen off one of the capturers. It was shaped in a grapevine and had something engraved on the back of it that vaguely decipherable as "Sw… Jeyne". Edric deducted these hadn't just been poachers if one of them wore a golden broach. It wasn't very difficult to figure out where they had come from. The grapevine was the sigil of House Redwyne of the Arbor, a trade island of the coast of Oldtown. Other than that, they could not find out what the words meant. Arya thought it referred to Jeyne Swyft, a girl that had accompanied late King Robert to Winterfell. King Robert had asked her father to become Hand of the King, and not much later, Sansa and Arya had left with him for King's Landing. She remembered the Swyft girl as a nice, pretty maiden with a gap in her teeth. Her house had its holdfast in the Westerlands, but Arya did not know where. It did not matter. Their biggest lead was the Arbor now, so Edric and Arya decided to make their way to the west and grab a ship south. The Crag was the closest port nearby, but on foot it would take them at least a week to get there, so they begged Lord Beric to provide them with horses. As usual, he was reluctant, but he did not object and let them go, on the condition that the Septa would go with them. It was a strange request, but they agreed.

The morning of their departure, Arya observed the Septa for the first time. She had been there when she had a wash, and she had helped them finding the altar, but Arya had never really noticed her Her real name was Septa Lemore, she learned soon enough. Now that she did notice her, she realized that the Septa was in fact a very beautiful woman. In fact, she now saw how voluptuous her robe fell around her chest and how she kept 'forgetting' to bind the lock of hair underneath her cap. Arya remembered how Septa Mordane had always made sure she bound her hair under her cap. Septa Mordane had called it a virtue to be plain. _If not a Septa, who was she, really? Why is she here? Had she ever been a true Septa?_ All these questions darted around her mind, and finally she decided she didn't care.

They rode for hours that day, until at sundown they found an abandoned farm, where they held up in the attic. Edric had packed some bread so they ate that for supper. They would need the rest of the provisions for later on the road. They were unsure where and when they would have another chance to get more food, and for a minute, Arya considered if she had made a mistake.

"Everyone, get some sleep, we have a long day tomorrow. I'll take watch tonight." Edric said decisively, immediately establishing that he was here to lead them, when in fact he had no idea where they were going. Yes, they had made a plan, but infiltrating the land of the Lions, without being seen? And then trying to board a ship headed for the Reach? There seemed to be a lot of uncertain variables that they would have to deal with. He estimated another day ride until they would arrive at Golden Tooth. Perhaps they could get some food there. Edric yawned, but stood up and moved closer to the window that overlooked the farm. From there he periodically checked their perimeter, but he found himself checking up on sleeping Arya as well. There was something about her when he was with her. He couldn't help himself around her. He could relate to her and had found their sudden connection weirdly frightening. Had the Faith brought them together? What was it about her that made him feel so uncomfortable? He had noticed from her eyes that she had suffered. He saw the pain when he looked at her, and far more than anything, he wanted her to be fine.

Morning came and they headed further west as early as possible. The roads were quiet, but as they progressed and approached the city, they stumbled onto more travelers and houses. They asked several people passing by on the situation in Golden Tooth and heard two-thousand Lannister army had occupied the city, intending to march North on Riverrun. There was no way they could sneak into the city unnoticed now, so they took a side road and avoid the main route to Golden Tooth. It would cost them a lot of time, but it was far safer for the Septa and for Arya. The side road ran alongside a long stretch of water that they would follow to Ashemark, another Lannister city further west. Just as they had crossed the river over a bridge, coarse laughter came out of the woods and seven poorly armored men surrounded them and pulled them off their horses.

"What do we have here?" grunted one of them. He had a scar on his left cheek and held a short axe in his hand. The others were just standing there snickering while he talked. "A nun, a maiden and a knight. Fair trio. But the real question is, what are they doing on this road? A little dangerous for you high folks, isn't it?"

"Step away, stranger, we have nothing of treasure. Let us on our way and we'll forget about this."

"Nothing of treasure? Look at the pretty faces of your companions, ser. We are not after your gold, we'll even pay for a piece of that meat."

Edric nodded at Arya and drew his sword. One of the bandits charged on Edric, who easily deflected and put an end to the man's life with a stroke of his sword.

"Leave now and you'll live," Edric warned them, but soon two others leaped at him and cornered him from two sides. Arya pulled out Needle and rushed towards one of them and planted her steel in his fat belly. _Stick 'em with the pointy end._ With two men down, the odds had changed tremendously. "The boy first," said their leader. The three of them had no trouble parrying Edric's cuts and then one of them managed to inflict a wound that opened up his leather doublet and blood streamed out in a thick stripe down his shirt. Ned emitted a scream, and swung his sword around in anger, hitting one guy in the arm and another in the leg. Suddenly their leader jumped forward and held his knife at the Septa's throat. A dog was standing a little further watching the scene and here and there barking at the show. Meanwhile Arya was surrounded as well and Edric crunched down and held his arm around his shoulder.

"Now, if we can all remain civilized, no more blood has to be spilled," the man said, "You are coming with us."

Arya noticed Edric had collapsed and tilted his head backwards. She rushed out and kneeled down with him. His eyes had turned pale white and there was no emotion on his face. "No, Edric!" she screamed.

The dog attacked the bandits from behind all of a sudden and in that moment Septa Lemore had picked up his knife and stabbed the man in his heart. She turned around to the others and looked merciless. The dog growled viciously and charged at the thug's calves. A groan of pain pierced through the air and finally the band of brutes got scared and scattered back into the woods. Arya was still bowed over Edric, holding him up in a desperate embrace. She heard a shallow cough and saw Edric's irises returned to him, but she didn't let go of him for a while.

"I thought I had lost you," she murmured.

"Step away Arya, his wound needs to be taken care of before it festers," said Lemore, while she got out some bandages and a phial with milk of the poppy. "Here take this, it will help you relax while I clean out the wound." She gave him the phial and opened up his shirt to take a look at the deep cut in his shoulder.

"No milk of the poppy," Edric said, "we don't have time for that. We need to move on before a Lannister patrol sees these corpses and us. They can't find out Arya is here."

The Septa got out a cup of wine and poured it over his wound and wrapped the bandages over his upper arm. Edric grunted in pain, and pressured the bandages. Arya helped him strap his shield on his back and threw his arm around her shoulder for support. The Septa sifted through the bandits' pockets and took whatever coin and supplies she could find and the three of them made their escape.

That night they slept on rocks in the woods, out in the sharp cold wind, surrounded by the wild animals that haunted the dark. Arya took watch and gave Edric some rest. Septa Lemore decided to stay up with her.

"Are you doing alright?" Lemore asked her, handing her a cup of warm carrot soup she had made for supper. "I can imagine that after today you are feeling a little restless. Don't worry, though, Edric is a fighter, he will pull through just fine."

"It's not that," Arya confessed, "I know he will, but I can't shake what happened with back there. The dog, he just attacked. I've never seen any dog do that, not even my wolves do that. It was as if it was possessed."

"The Seven work in strange ways, but they saw the righteousness in you and our cause. Maybe that's why they helped."

Arya chuckled. "The Seven? How would you know, you're clearly not a Septa of the Faith. You are too young and pretty to be a Septa. I know because every Septa I met was grey and old. I saw you grabbing that man's knife and stabbing him in the heart. That was not according to the Faith. And you also don't bind your hair under your cap."

"You are a very diligent young lady, aren't you?" she answered with a grin. She untied her cap and let her flowing dark hair loose down her robe.

"Then who are you?" Arya asked with distrust.

"One day I'll give you an honest answer, but for now I need to go south. You don't have to trust me. I understand if you don't, but I'll help you in any way I can, you have my word on that. Now, if you want I'll take watch for the rest of the night."

Arya had no choice but to believe her. They would be stuck with her for the whole way south and she had taken care of Edric's wounds after all. A stinging wind encroached her vest. The air had been getting colder these past few weeks up north and now they could even feel it blowing below the Neck. _Winter Is Coming_, Arya thought. The words of her house burned on the back of her mind. Not only the words, she saw the crypts, the halls, and steam coming from the hot springs underneath Winterfell. She thought of running around the court and the corridors, swift and silent as a cat. She thought of Bran and Rickon and Jon, and even of Sansa, regretting how they had separated. Arya had no idea where she was, but promised herself that if she did, she would find her and tell her that she was sorry for what happened to Lady and everything else in King's Landing. Their time apart had made her realize that she hadn't always been a very good sister to her. A tear rolled over her cheek when she took a moment to replay everything in her head. She repeated the names. _Dunsen, Raff the Sweetling, Ser Meryn, Ser Gregor, Ser Ilyn Payne, Queen Cersei, King Joffrey. Valar Morghulis. All men must die._ Arya laid her head down and closed her eyes.


	5. Chapter 5 - Smoke, Ash and Ardor

–

SMOKE, ASH AND ARDOR

–

As they were approaching Ashemark they noticed the black smoke rising up behind the hill. Their horizon was gory red and bodies lay everywhere along the road and before the city wall. Inside the sight was even worse. Corpses lay rotting in abandoned streets, houses were burned to the ground, and children and mothers were wandering through the streets, crying and searching through the dead faces for their parents or husbands. One pitch-black crow landed on a cadaver and started picking burned flesh out of its eye socket. The soldiers had left, or died. Ashemark was a place of death and despair. Repulsed by the noisome, the fellowship entered a lonely inn that sheltered victims of the massacre. The innkeeper gave them one room and what little food he had left.

"The wolves came during the night," he said as he put down three bowls of soup on the table. Arya watched him carefully when he came back again, this time with cheese and bread. He was a stocky man, bolstered by his work, but not very bright. His hands revealed that he had been a sailor once, or a brawler. He had thick scars on his hands that stretched as he moved them. "They did not stop until the gates were breached and all were dead. The people ran and were slaughtered. The river filled red and arrows rained from the sky. Ashemark has lost everything. They seized the riches of our gold mines, and slayed everyone who opposed. I saw the Young Wolf riding his beast, leading his men into battle. On the Mother, and all others, I swear it."

_That is impossible._ Arya thought.She had seen her brother dead, and Grey Wind, too. The Freys had made sure of that when they had spiked Grey Wind's head unto her brother's body. She had been right outside when it happened. Tom, the innkeeper, told they were calling it the Red Wedding now, and how shortly after an enraged, scattered army of bloodshot Wolves had shown up at the city gates. The carnage had left the whole city burning and the Wolves had moved on further west, led by the Stark Boy's right hand giant, Greatjon Umber. His axe had cleaved men in half. He had seen it. Tom talked about it like he had seen a ghost. Ghosts of bellicose partisans in a futile war for vengeance and forged liberty. Ghosts of family, friends and people he had known. Men, and women just the same. All benighted and beset in one stroke. Death had reaped here, not glory.

Arya and Edric, disturbed by the ashen shadows and incessant yammer of widows and orphans outside, had an uneasy sleep that night, so they stayed up and sat around the fireplace. While Edric was staring off in the flames, frowning his eyebrows in thought, Arya watched him and wondered if fate lived in this world, and if it had brought them together. Did it all have a purpose? Had their lives been connected from the beginning or had it decided to let them intertwine along the way?

"Edric, I wanted to ask you… That day, when the bandits attacked."

He turned around and looked at her with his dark purple eyes that entranced Arya for a second before she snapped out of it. "Yes?" he said.

"There was a dog, and it attacked when you passed out… Was it you in the dog? Are you a skinwalker?" Old Nan used to tell her stories about skinwalkers in the North all the time, _but those were just stories_, she thought. Up until now she had never even contemplated the possibility of it, but after her dreams about Nymeria and what happened with the bandits, she had begun to think that there could be truth in the stories.

"I'm sorry, Arya. All I remember is a flash of anger and then I passed out. I don't remember anything of what happened next until I woke up in your arms, so I highly doubt it could have been me in there, and to be honest, I highly question the existence of such powers for that matter. Don't make it seem more than it is."

Silence surrounded them while they shared a look. Arya nodded in understanding and inhaled high and then sighed deep.

"How is your shoulder?" she finally asked him.

"Feels good, no problem at all," he answered with a grimace. It was a poorly executed lie, but he said it anyway.

"Let me take a look at it," Arya suggested. "You're obviously in pain."

"It's fine, really."

Without warning, Arya moved closer, buttoned down his shirt and slipped it off his shoulder. The bandage had come loose and the wound had been bleeding again. Arya removed it with great care and cleaned the wound with some water. For a moment she was strenuously focused on taking care of his injury, but as she bound a new compress around his shoulder, her hands moved over his muscular body in an unintended stroke that sent a shiver up her spine. Cold drops of sweat rolled down her back and made her tingle at the most accidental touch of his hands. His warm, worn hands that had helped her mount her horse and that had carried her down. They made her want to linger in his caress. They latched themselves around her neck and pulled Arya closer, until she surrendered. Their lips collided with a hallow softness, and amidst the dizziness and elation, clinging unto him like a lifeline, something erupted and changed inside of her, not to be reversed. She gave in to the feeling, utterly and completely, for all she desired was to feel his breath come and go with hers.


	6. Chapter 6 - Escalation

–

ESCALATION

–

The next morning they left with whatever provisions they were able to find abandoned by the dead citizens of Ashemark. A few loaves of bread and some salted meat that they could cook as well. It wasn't long before Septa Lemore picked up the lingering tension between Arya and Edric whenever the two looked at each other, but she didn't care. Arya felt liberated and unshackled from worries and thoughts she had been hoarding for quite some time and finally she had realized that Edric attracted her, in so many ways.

The way to the Crag was long and uneventful. Here and there they spotted a group of travelers going in opposite direction, and once they saw a patrol of five Lannister soldiers ahead and jumped in a ditch off the road. The fellowship approached them hoping they would be able to sneak past them, but as they continued they saw what had happened. The ropes strung high from the trees and noosed the soldiers around the neck. Their sword arms had been cut off and the Lannister sigil was almost unrecognizable with the coating of blood above it. They stood below the hanging corpses for a while, until Edric took out his knife and started climbing the tree to cut down the ropes.

"What are you doing? These were Lannister soldiers! They killed my family," Arya bawled.

"No, Arya," Edric responded, "They were people. These men had nothing to do with their deaths. They are too far away from the Twins to have been part of the Massacre at the Crossing. Look at them, Arya, they deserve to die in peace as does anyone else."

She had not expected that. A part of her wanted to yell at him. He didn't know what she had been through. She looked at the cold faces. Blank eyes and yellow hairs smothered with dirt. The ropes had left their marks on their skin. _Good_, she thought.

While she turned away to get back on her horse, Lemore and Edric closed their eyes, prayed together to the Seven and the Red God. She found their zealousness maddening. Arya had never found the Gods to be very charitable. In Winterfell her father had spent hours at the Heart tree in the Godswood, but when Arya went to pray, she had heard no response. When her father had kneeled down on the steps of Baelor's Sept she had prayed again, but the Gods had let him die. _There was only one God_, Syrio would say, _and his name is Death. And what do we say to Death? Not today._

Arya didn't want anything to do with her companions and so she rode alone for a while. She listened to the sound of her horse's hooves on the wet dirt road below. Inside her pocket she rubbed the coin Jaqen the Assassin had given her. _Valar Morghulis_. She felt a sudden instinct that there was something waiting for her in Braavos. Maybe it would be a good idea to travel there. She'd have to sail all across Westeros though, Braavos lay across the Narrow Sea, and she had traveled too far west to go back east now. She was starting to have enough from all this riding, but realized they were almost at the Crag. Of course she had no idea what would be waiting for them there. Their plan had always been for them to move south from there, but only if the city wasn't completely destroyed by Robb's army. Now she even started doubting her reason for being here. She saw Nymeria die didn't she? There was no reason for her to even find her. It was time for her to accept that Nymeria was gone.

All at once she started feeling dizzy and smacked forward. Her eyes turned white, her body felt an abrupt kick as if a hammer struck her on her back. Her arms lost all grip and hung helplessly aside her horse, like she was embracing it or falling asleep.

Her body was warm now, warm and fuzzy. She shook her head and saw dirt falling out of her hair, but when she looked up she could not recognize where she was. Around her was a cage of iron bars, and no one else. There was no Edric, no Septa. Where the hell was she? She straightened up and cried for help. It came out like a loud growl.

"Shut up, will you? I've had enough of you," it sounded from behind a wall.

She took in her surroundings and a smell of salt and sea poured into her nostrils. Even more, a faint whiff of fresh and rotten fish, being carried from one end to another passed her senses. The cage was built in what seemed to be a room of wooden planks stacked together. A little bowl of chewed meat and another one with water sat still in the corner of the cage. Water, she thought and buried her face in it, licking up all the drops she spilled on the dirty floor. It felt like hadn't drank or eaten for days.

Another cry of help was ignored, and she waited a couple of minutes before trying again. Now she noticed other things. As she listened closely, the sound of a nearby market, and people squabbling over prices and goods became distinguishable. Had she arrived in the Crag? Was she in the harbor? She pointed her ears as she heard a man coming in the next room.

"We're ready for transport. The Swift Jeyne is loaded and ready to embark. We'll make it to Oldtown in a matter of days. Is the bitch ready? She's the only one to board. Get the cage ready. We'll leave in two hours."

A black and white memory past her eyes. As the golden broach engraved with a grapevine came back to her, and kicked her right back into her own body. And Arya woke up.


End file.
